The Older Man

The older man pulled his car in the driveway, got out, and looked at the disaster, which was his lawn: the last time he had done any work on it was three months ago, and it showed. The grass was knee deep, leaves were strewn everywhere, white flowers stood out like satellite dishes; the weeds had taken up residency under the dishes creating multiple homes; five condos, and two high rises. Walking around the house, he opened the gate to the backyard, glanced over at his pine tree, and saw it had shed pine-cones that established a hundred satellite offices occupying the entire yard. Working in the yard was one thing he hated, almost as much as getting out of bed in the morning, as he was a night person. It had finally got to the point that he could no longer put it off, so he went into the house, changed his clothes, put his tie shoes on (the older man preferred sandals), got his heavy-duty work gloves, and went over to the lawnmower. It was as old as the older man was, and he wondered if it would start this year. Last year it had to get a tune up in order to continue its job, and he wished it would only cost a hundred dollars to tune him up for a year. He should not complain, he was able to swim a mile, did not have great lapses in memory, and probably would be able to complete the yard work. After filling the lawnmower, he brought it outside, primed it three times with the red button, pulled the rope, and bingo she was roaring to go.

Taking the mower to the side of the house, he slowly attacked the knee-deep grass, and just before he finished, the mower ran out of gas, he refilled her and off they went to the front. The houses with the satellite dishes easily vanished, the condos toppled with only minimal resistance, but the high rises put up a valiant effort before surrendering to the mowers blades. The backyard was last, surveying it once again, he realized he would have to destroy the pine-cone satellites, or would be stepping on them every foot. Retracing his steps, he went back into the garage, and found his old friend Mr. Rake: over his lifetime, he had raked more leaves than in a national forest. Once it was in his hand it rested comfortably in his palm, carrying it to the backyard, he assaulted the cones, and created a new planet sitting in the middle of the yard. Leaning Mr. Rake up against the pine tree, he restarted the mower and began mowing the backyard. Going up and down he watched the wheel marks so he would not miss a spot, which created a rhythm enabling his mind to wander.

He has been cutting grass with this mower since the dawn of time, and it was as comfortable as the shorts he was wearing. It has large wheels on the back and small ones on the front, which was a big selling point when he bought it, as this gave it easy maneuverability in tight spots – everything the salesman told him that day has been true, and as the years passed, it continued to perform without any problems. The most recent tune up was the first he spent money on, and felt he was way ahead of the game from a financial perspective. He told his daughter he had mowed the grass today, and remarked how well the mower performed. She had cut her grass with her new mower which was self-propelled, turned on a dime, had a bag, was great on gas, and he should purchase one.

Shutting off the mower, he looked back, all the rows were neat, and he had not missed a spot. Tomorrow, he would pick up planet pinecone; start the tree trimming, and other yard work. Pushing the mower, he picked up Mr. Rake on the way to the garage, entered the garage, stowed Mr.Rake, and put the mower in its spot. Taking off his shoes, he glanced over at the mower, realized he could afford a new one, but mowing the grass without his old friend would not be the same.

With kindest regards, Judowolf